Stronger
by joliesse43
Summary: Brennan dates a bad boy biker and ends up in trouble. Who can she turn to for help? Booth, of course, but can he overcome his hangups about being involved with a coworker? B&B as always. 1st person, Brennan’s pov. FINAL UPDATE!
1. Chapter 1

Stronger

Brennan and Booth have different reactions to the Howard Epps case. As distance begins to creep into their relationship Brennan ends up in the arms of a bad boy. Begins after 'Man in the Cell' and goes off in its own crazy direction. B&B as always.

Chapter 1 – One enchanted evening?

This is different that anything else I've written, mainly cause it's in the first person, which is something I've always wanted to try, so we'll see how it goes.

--

"Brennan." I say, snatching my phone off the desk the second it rings. I am so sure of the caller that I don't check the ID. I should have. It's only my editor. I tersely explain that this is not a good time and quickly end the call.

I stare at the clock on the monitor willing it to change for the thousandth time in the last hour. The clock stares back, unchanging and unblinking. Stupid clock. I usually admire the clear digital numbers, leaving no question as to what time it could be. Much more practical than the clocks with their minute hands leaving room for error about the exact time. Today however, the unforgiving clock is my enemy. Almost two hours ago the alarms at our lab at the Jeffersonian were triggered, leading to a full lockdown of the lab. Again. The alarm that had been triggered was on the platform, but no one was working on it at the time and there are no remains or bones anywhere near it.

Come on people, it's a false alarm!The clock changes from 8:59 pm to 9:00 pm. I pull up the menu on the desktop and remove the clock from the display with a small amount of satisfaction.

It hasn't even been a week since the incident with Howard Epps and Cam's continued absence from the lab as she recovers is reminder enough of the biological dangers that face us everyday. But still, they told us half and hour ago that all the tests had come back clean. How long does it take to recalibrate the system?

I look over at Angela, who is sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, Zach having fallen asleep on the couch after learning the test results. It was almost seven on a Friday night and Angela and Zach were the only other two left in the lab when the alarms went off. I guess this is what we get for working late on a Friday, not that I have anything else to do. I feel rather chagrined at the thought.

"I know sweetie, I love you too. See you soon." Angela says as she finally hangs up the phone.

She spent the entire duration of our time on lockdown on the phone with Hodgins. It's obvious that she is still upset from everything that's happened and I don't blame her, but I find I have little compassion left tonight. I've just listened to one side of a two-hour phone conversation filled with sickeningly sweet declarations of love, bouts of insecurity and occasional teary interludes. A headache is starting to form somewhere at the back of my neck.

"Jack says ten more minutes and we are outta here!" Angela declares jumping up from the chair and throwing her arms up in triumph.

"That's great!" I say, excited at the prospect of finally being free from our unnecessary incarceration.

"He was so sweet to stay on the phone with me the whole time, don't you think?" Angela gushes, not leaving enough time for me to actually reply before she continues. "When we get home tonight I am so gonna –"

"Angela!" I yell cutting her off before she can continue. I really do not want to hear what she has planned for Dr. Hodgins' reward.

I am happy for my best friend. I really am. And I've never see her so happy before. She really does light up when he is around. It's just like all the clichés about love I've read about. I am happy for her; it's just that sometimes, especially in times like these and especially lately, it just makes me feel … well lonely, I guess. I turn my attention back to Angela who had apparently continued to speak even after I stopped listening.

"Booth's out there." Angela says. My head snaps up. She definitely has my attention now.

"What is he doing here?" I ask my voice a little more demanding than I mean it to be. Angela eyes me questioningly. "I mean, I didn't call him. I'm not sure how he would have found out about this."

"I don't know, but he is waiting out there. And knowing how Booth is when you're in trouble, he is probably not waiting patiently." Angela says. She pulls her chair around to my side of the desk and glances at Zach, who is still sleeping, before she speaks again.

"How is he doing? I've hardly seen him since…" Her voice trails off. I swallow hard trying to keep the lump from rising in my throat. The lump that makes it hard to breathe anytime I think of Howard Epps and of the things he done and almost done to my friends and coworkers. To what he has done to my partner. To our relationship.

I rub my neck, trying to ease the tension as I debate how much to tell Angela. Not that there is that much to tell, really. I have only spoken to Booth three times since the night Epps died. The first time being at the carousel with his son the next morning. Shaking my head, I force myself to stop. That particular conversation has been replayed enough times in my head already.

"I don't really know," I answer honestly. "He doesn't say very much to me."

"Oh." Angela replies delicately.

The truth is that I am worried about Booth. The way he was after Epps death, sitting at my table, looking so defeated and lost. Two qualities I've never associated with him before.

I tried to comfort him. To reassure him that Epps death was for the best. I even went to look for him the next morning, but obviously I didn't do it right or, most likely, I wasn't the right person for the job. Which actually makes me feel bad. He has always been there whenever I need someone. Like when I found out what happened to my mother or after I killed Epps' accomplice. All this has left me wondering if maybe Epps hadn't gotten the better of us after all. Sure a monster is dead and he can never kill again, but he took something from every member of my team.

Maybe Booth is right. Maybe we have gotten too close. He feels responsible for what happened to Cam, but ultimately it was my fault. Epps told me that. He knew that going after everyone I work with was like going after my family. I made it far too easy for my friends, and even Cam, to become targets.

A great whoosh of air followed by the metallic clicking of the doors unlocking tell us that the quarantine is over. Zach sits up quickly, a deep crease in his face from the couch cushion.

"Come on Zach," I say motioning for the door. "We are free to go." He pats down his hair, which is still very short. Truthfully, his new haircut makes him look even younger than before, but I don't tell him that. I figure it will grow out.

Rounding the corner of the lab, we see Angela jump straight into Hodgins' outstretched arms. He stumbles back a bit as he tries not to drop her. Zack laughs softly behind me and then walks off towards his office.

Booth appears suddenly in the hall before me. He stops when he sees me and I see a little grin cross his face. I feel a reciprocating smile move across my own face. I take a step towards him, fully intending to take comfort in his embrace, albeit in a much less exuberant way than Angela. When his arms are wrapped around me I always feel a bit better, a bit safer; even though afterwards I always regret whatever moment of weakness allowed the contact in the first place.

It's at this point that I falter in my hug mission and stop awkwardly before him. We can't be doing this anymore. Not even any man hugs. Those are the new rules. I suddenly feel drained of all energy.

"Hey," I say finally. "What are you doing here?"

He shifts back and forth on his feet and I can tell that he is slightly uneasy as well. "I heard there was a situation here and I wanted to make sure that you," Booth stops and clears his throat before continuing, "that everything is alright."

I am a little suspicious how he had found out about a low level biological scare at the Jeffersonian on a Friday night, but I let it go.

"It was a false alarm." I explain. "Something was wrong with the sensors so they recalibrated the system. I'm not really sure why they kept us in there so long after the tests came back clean. I will be speaking to someone about that on Monday." I stop, aware that I am talking too much and too quickly.

I am nervous. I'm sure it was painfully obvious that I had been heading right into his arms before I managed to restrain myself. He made it clear that there were no romantic possibilities between the two of us and I don't want him to think I feel any differently.

Because I don't.

"Ok." He says studying my face carefully, probably trying to figure out if I am crazy. I am beginning to think that it is a valid question. I finally break the stare; his dark eyes are too intense for me tonight.

"Are you leaving?" He asks gesturing at the coat in my arms. I nod and slip it on. "I'll walk you to your car." Booth puts his hand on my back as we start to walk. It is a simple gesture, one that's happened countless times before, but now when I feel his hand I flinch. My face flushes and I feel his hand quickly pull away.

"Sorry," He whispers next to me. His breath on my ear sends a shiver through me that I try to suppress. Sometimes he has that effect on me when we are close.

"It's fine, I'm just tired." I say lamely.

Booth accepts the explanation in silence. Damn! Why did I have to flinch? I groan inwardly at the irony of the situation. Booth finally offers the contact I have been secretly craving and I pull away. Way to go Temperance.

We walk in continued silence until we reached my car. I unlocked the door and throw my purse onto the passenger seat before I turn to face him. "Thank you for coming to check on us." I say giving him what I hope is a charming smile.

"Yeah, well somebody's got to keep an eye on you squints."

I roll my eyes at him, happy to hear the teasing tone in his voice. But then his expression turns serious and I wait for him to speak again. He starts to, but stops and gives me a look that I have no idea how to interpret.

"Goodnight Temperance," He says softly before he turns and walks towards his truck.

I exhale, unaware that I have been holding my breath. As I watch him walk away, noting that he cuts a handsome figure in the dim light, I am temped to call after him. To offer pie and coffee at the diner. I wait for him to look back, but he doesn't. Not until he is backing out of his parking space, at which point I realize I am still standing in the same place staring after him. In a rush of embarrassment, I jump into my car and start the engine, racing away in the opposite direction from Booth.

What the hell am I doing? One minute I am convinced that Booth and I need some distance in our relationship and the next minute I am practically flirting with him. He is right. We probably should maintain some sort of distance between us. I just didn't realize it would be so hard. It would be much easier if he wasn't such a great guy. With the way he worries about me and how he is always trying to take care of people. And the way he tries to use his charm smile to get something he really wants.

Anyway, turning into my usual parking space I put the car into park, but I don't turn off the engine. The thought of walking into my big, dark and empty apartment seems utterly depressing. Wistfully I imagine having a little pig named Jasper to come home to, or failing that, at least a man.

It's Friday night, I realize finally understanding the social implications of the day and time. I'm a single woman and it's Friday night. What am I supposed to do?

_A club sweetie. Find a club or a bar._

Angela's voice seems to fill the car and I realize her ghostly instructions are correct. Perhaps some alcohol and company can help stave away the blues. That's what normal people do, right?

The only problem with this plan is that I don't feel like going to any of the clubs or bars I have been to with Angela. They all involve bright lights and really loud music, usually with large amounts of bass. I turn down Garver Street, away from the club I was parked outside of. Several minutes down the road I spot a small brick building whose windows are filled with neon beer signs. _Mularkey's_ is illuminated in green across the top of the building, accentuated with a Shamrock for the apostrophe. I smile at the name. An Irish bar seems exactly like what I am looking for.

Walking towards the door I can't help but notice that my Mercedes seems out of place among the motorcycles, trucks and classic cars in the parking lot.

"What do ya want?" The bartender asks as I sit down. It's a good question. A quick glance of the establishments' clientele tells me I probably shouldn't order wine. I think of the advice Booth gave me once about a bottle of hard liquor and a bartender named Shaky.

"Scotch." I say blurting out the first liquor that comes to mind.

"Ya want that neat or on the rocks?" He asks over his shoulder as he selects a bottle from the impressive display behind him. I have no idea what he means. Is it some sort of brand? He looks at me questioningly.

"Neat." I answer quickly. When given a choice between something neat and something on the rocks, I will almost always choose neat. Sighing, I realize that maybe that is my problem.

--

The first glass of scotch does nothing for me and I motion to the bartender for another. I have been sitting alone at the bar for almost a half and hour and I feel no better. One man attempted to talk to me, but despite the fact I don't know what I am looking for right now, I am pretty sure it isn't him. This outing is not exactly what I thought it would be.

The door opens and a noisy group enters, grabbing my attention. When I turn, I look straight into the eyes of a tall man who had evidently been looking at me. His lip curls up into either a smile or a sneer, I am not sure which. Quickly, I shift my attention back to the now refilled glass of scotch in front of me. I know he is watching me and I feel a rush of heat pass through me, though I choose to attribute it to the alcohol instead of his attentions.

The group moves to a table just at the edge of my sight. I watch him seat himself at the back of the table, with disgust I also see a heavily made up yet scantily clad woman on either side of him. I turn away as the rest of his party fills in the table around him. It is obvious that this man was the leader of their little group.

He is good looking, slightly taller than Booth, but not quite as muscular. His hair is brown, but much lighter than Booth's, and his clothes are all black. I stop cataloging his looks when I realize that I am using Booth to size him up. Dropping my head into my hands, I am unsure of exactly when Booth became the guy that I compare all other men to.

No more thinking about him tonight! To help enforce that point, I sneak a quick look at the table in the corner. He is looking at me again. I can't help but give him a quick smile before I lower my gaze. Several minutes later a man walks up next to me and leans against the bar. "Buzz wants you to come sit with us."

I look up, startled at the sudden announcement. "What?"

The man nods his head in the direction of the table with the tall mystery man, who is watching us. "Let's go." He says in a tone that said that he personally isn't excited for me to join them.

I am stunned by the command to join him and I resent it. Part of me wants to stay where I am, to show him I won't just follows orders, but the other part is curious. Well, I rationalize as I walks toward his table, at least I can tell him to his face that he can't just stare at strange women and order them around. Their table is crowded and I stop unsure of where I should sit. He leans towards the woman on his right and whispers something into her ear. She hesitates for a second before getting up and moving to the other side of the table. Grasping my glass tightly, I sit stiffly in the now vacant chair next to him.

He takes his time before he speaks, his eyes slowly tracing my body down to my legs and then back up to my face. It's as if he is mentally undressing me as I sat here. I feel indignant and I make to stand up.

"Name's Buzz," He offers in a surprisingly deep and gravely voice.

"Temperance Brennan." I find myself answering, instead of getting up and walking away as I probably should be doing.

"Temperance," he repeats, "That's quite a name. Anything else I can call you?" His voice is so deep I have to concentrate hard to hear the words over the music.

'Bones' comes to mind immediately, but I don't volunteer that name. It belongs to someone else. "Tempe," I offer and he seems satisfied with this.

"Never seen you here before Tempe." I'm having a hard time hearing so I lean slightly towards him to hear what he says. As I do, the light shifts and I notice that his eyes are green, with a sparkle of something that I'll generously call mischievousness.

"It's my first time," I say. "Here. At Mularky's." I add hurriedly and then feel stupid. I thought it sounded like I'd said 'it's my first time drinking alone in a bar considering a one night stand with a mysterious guy dressed all in black,' but he probably didn't.

What are you, a teacher or a librarian or something?" One of the girls, and I do mean girl for she really doesn't look older than eighteen, next to Buzz asks with a smirk. I follow her eye line and look down at my clothes and realize that next to the other women at the table I probably do look like a librarian.

"No," I answer slowly. "I work in a museum." At my apparently boring answer the girl looses interest and turns to talk to the guy next to her.

"You look fine to me," Buzz says and this time I definitely feel myself blush. He gives me a crooked smile and then joins the others in conversation.

I take a big drink of my scotch. Why am I still sitting here? I really should be walking away. I know it. This man is rude, patriarchal, chauvinistic and his name represents a sound. Although he appears neat enough and I don't see any visible tattoos, his friends are a bit scruffier, and judging by the stories they are telling, live an interesting, and probably not entirely legal, life.

This time I decide that I should leave; my apparent fascination with Buzz notwithstanding. I stand up and as soon as I do he stand up also as if to follow me. I put my jacket on and head outside, trying not to look back. He doesn't speak until we are in the parking lot.

"You leaving?" He calls out. I stop and wait for him to catch up.

"Yes," I answer. "It's late."

"No it's not," he insists, laughing. "You want to go for a ride?"

I am a little shocked by the offer, though I guess that how these things work. I look back at the row of motorcycles and ask, "On one of those?"

He shakes his head, "Nah, I got my car tonight." He walks away seemingly unconcerned with whether or not I will follow. And for some reason that makes me want to follow him more.

Buzz walks towards a black car parked right at the front. Even I, who don't know very much about cars, can tell that this car is nice. It looks like it is from the seventies with big tires in the back, several shiny parts sticking up above the hood, and a silver SS on the front. I bet Booth would love this car, I think before I can stop myself. I force all thoughts of Booth out of my head, determined not to break my self imposed mandate.

He unlocks and opens the door for me, but doesn't wait for me to get inside before he goes around to the drivers side. The interior of the car is entirely black as well and smells of leather, cologne, and smoke.

I am learning that Buzz is a man of relatively few words. He has said exactly three to me since I have been in the car. "Just finished it." He says nodding towards the dashboard, presumably talking about his car.

"It's very nice," I reply, not really sure of the proper compliment for his car. He rolls down the window a bit and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as he drives. I can't help but notice that I am completely out of my element.

We are heading towards a more industrial and less busy part of town, when the fact that the last guy I was with turned out to be a murder, pops in to my head. I try to ignore it. Try also to ignore the voice in my head that sounds suspiciously familiar, insisting that I should not be riding in the car of a man I barely know.

"It's ok." He says. "You seem nervous. It's ok." His confidence and deep voice seem oddly comforting.

We pull up at a red light and he peers past me out the window. I follow his gaze and see a car pull up next to us. It's smaller and painted a bright orange with it has neon everywhere. The driver seems to be communicating with Buzz.

"Hold on Tempe." He says to me with a devious smile. I barely have time to protest before I am pinned to the seat by gravity. We are racing down the road and Buzz is alternately laughing and swearing. I however, am braced for impact, grabbing the sides of the seat with my eyes squeezed shut, sure that I am living the last seconds of my life.

Several seconds pass and we haven't crashed. I slowly open my eyes and resume normal breathing. I see the orange car begin to fall behind and soon I could feel our car decelerate as well. Buzz lets out a whoop of joy that seems completely incongruous with his quiet demeanor. I laugh and join him, the adrenaline of the race leaving me exhilarated. I feel reckless.

There is something dangerous about being here with Buzz, I realize as I look over at him. There is something liberating as well. He doesn't know me. Doesn't know that I am Dr. Temperance Brennan, respected forensic anthropologist and best selling author who works with the FBI to solve murders. Maybe I like that. Maybe I need that. Maybe I need 'on the rocks' instead of 'neat.'

"I live near here. You want to come over?" He asks.

I smile at him and nod, unsure if I could actually form a coherent sentence right now.

--

I wake up later than I usually do. The sun has already risen and is streaming through the window where the curtains have pulled apart. Buzz is lying next to me, his back towards me. I don't feel as dirty as I feared I might after my first official 'get drunk and pick up a stranger in a bar one night stand.' I also don't feel as satisfied as I hoped I would either. Instead I feel kind of empty.

I roll over and study him from behind. There is a tattoo on the back of his neck that I didn't see last night. It is an intricate design done only in black and grey. The images of Booth's tattoos on his wrists come to mind. I've always wanted to ask him what they mean.

Carefully and quietly, I climb out of bed and dress. I am standing in the living room of Buzz's sparsely decorated, converted loft scrolling through the numbers on my phone looking for the cab company when I hear him behind me.

"I'll take you to your car," he says in a tone that doesn't leave much room for debate.

"Thanks," I reply awkwardly and follow him out the door.

Just like last night he has very little to say. My worries about awkward conversations begin to slip away. The vibrations and rumbles from the car's engine actually relax me, until we pull up in front of Malarky's, which actually looks rather run down in the daylight. My car is sitting alone in the deserted lot. I feel slightly uncomfortable, unsure how to explain to Buzz the $80,000 car that I drive.

"You shouldn't leave that car parked around here." He says as if reading my thoughts. "I had someone keep an eye on it last night."

I am tempted to ask what he means by that, but I open the door and climb out instead. I am trying to figure out what to say and if I should offer him my phone number when he leans across the seat, smiles at me, says, "See you later, Tempe," and pulls the door shut.

I climb, feeling shell-shocked, into my car and automatically start to drive home. My phone rings and I answer it, offering a wobbly, "Brennan."

"Where are you?" Angela asks, unusually awake and chipper sounding for eight thirty on a Saturday morning.

"I'm in the car, where are you?" I ask hoping to avoid the issue of where I have been.

"In front of your building. I brought breakfast and I was hoping we could talk." Angela says.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," I tell her. She isn't the only one who needs to talk.

--

Please let me know what you thought, especially about the first person style and whether you think it is relatively 'in character.'

So this story isn't really going to have a case or anything. It will be relationship based. B&B mainly, of course! Angela and Brennan friendship as well. I promise there will be lots of Booth, but we haven't seen the last of Buzz….


	2. Fire

Chapter 2 – Fire

Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing!

I know this story is different, but I'm glad to see some people are enjoying it. I'm having fun writing this and I even stayed in one evening work on it. I told my friends I was staying home to do laundry though, cause they have no idea fanfic exists, let alone that I write it. Ahh fanfic, my secret hobby.

--

The tantalizing aroma of coffee greets me as I walk through my door. Angela is sitting at my table half-heartedly flipping through a magazine. She is never shy about using the key I gave her.

"Hi," I say, despositing my coat and purse on the nearest chair.

"You didn't sleep here." She states, wasting no time.

"Angela," I beg. I probably will tell her about the previous night, but I need to ease into it. And I need coffee. "Thanks," I say gratefully as I fill my cup.

She regards me for a moment and then says, "I brought bagels from that place you like by my house."

"Good I'm starving!" I exclaim reaching into the bag. I am suddenly ravenous. Of course, I didn't actually eat dinner last night. I sit at the table next to her and we chew in comfortable silence. "So," I finally ask between bites, "Why the special visit?"

"Do I need a reason to come over?"

"No, of course not." I say quickly. "It's just that it's been a while since you've been over." I actually don't remember the last time she was here. I realize with a pang that we haven't spent very much time together outside of work lately.

"I know," she says, "that's kinda why I'm here." For a moment, I wonder if she is going to tell me she is quitting. Or perhaps that she doesn't want to be my friend anymore. She continues, "I know how you are Bren and I'm worried that you're pulling away from everyone out of some misguided notion of keeping us safe."

As usual, Angela has me completely figured out. It is a good thing I don't always let her know when she is right.

"After what happened with Epps, I'm not so sure it is all that misguided. He would have never gone after you all if it wasn't for me." I rally and argue reasonably.

"Bren, we all know that there is danger involved in what we do. We accept that. It's the price we pay to help send murders to jail."

"I don't know Ange. I just … I never thought it would be this way." I admit, having given some thought to my recent career tract. The truth is that I love what I am doing right now; working with Booth to solve murders. Answers found in bones take on a greater importance when the death didn't occur several thousand years ago. There is tangible proof that I do make a difference in the world.

"You're letting Epps win. He wanted to hurt you by taking away your friends. Don't let him do that. I know you feel guilty Brennan but you shouldn't." She insists, grabbing my hand and giving it a quick squeeze.

I do feel guilty and I don't think that feeling will be going away anytime soon. However, motivated by my friend's passion on the subject, I analyze her argument. "Divide and conquer," I say slowly, finally understanding the point she is trying to make.

"Exactly," she exclaims her expression turning joyful. "So, now do you agree that separating yourself isn't best logical answer?"

"Fine Angela, yes." I actually feel better. It is logical that together and united we are stronger than alone and separated. "Too bad Booth doesn't agree." I mumble, more to myself than to Angela

"What do you mean?" She questions.

"He thinks that people who work in risky situations like we do shouldn't be involved. Romantically." I add.

"Does that bother you? The romantic part?" She asks carefully, surprising me. I had been expecting her to ask if I agreed. It does bother me. A little. Thought I am not sure I want to admit it.

"Maybe," I say softly, looking down at my hands.

"Bren, whatever feelings you have for Booth-"

"There are no feelings to discuss," I insist, perhaps a bit too quickly.

Angela sighs. "Forget everything else, alright. If you and Booth are really friends than you should be able to talk to him about this. Just like we are," She adds motioning to the two of us. She is probably right, but it's not as easy as she makes it sound. That's part of what I love about Angela, she is open and confident in all the ways that I am not. Sometimes, I don't feel confident about anything other than my academic and scientific pursuits.

I stand up and walk back into the kitchen, hopefully indicating that I would rather not discuss Booth anymore.

"So if Booth isn't the reason you're still wearing yesterday's clothes, who is?" Angela asks. I should have known that she would not let it go. Still, I am desperate to change the subject.

"I met a man at a bar last night named Buzz and went home with him." I say.

Angela snorts. "Good one. Seriously, Bren where were you?"

I stared at my friend, unsure of what I should say to convince her, or if I even want to. Before I can decide, she reads the answer in my face and whispers, "No way."

"You told me to!" I protest.

"No I didn't." She says incredulous.

"Well not specifically, but isn't that what you are always telling me to do? Go out, have a drink and meet a guy?" I have her here and she knows it. That is exactly what she is always suggesting.

"Yeah, but I never thought you would actually go, especially without me." She says filling her glass with water from the sink. I however, choose another cup of coffee. "Ok, so what is he like?"

"Well," I hesitate not exactly sure how to describe Buzz. "He's tall, he likes to wear black, he likes racing and motorcycles." I tick these attributes off on my fingers. I don't have a whole lot more that I know, or care to add.

"Is he nice? Is he funny?" Angela asks eagerly.

I think for a moment. "Not really."

"So he's hot." She declares knowingly. This fact I cannot really dispute. "Still, I don't know sweetie, it doesn't sound like you really even know this guy."

"It was just sex Ange and we didn't even exchange contact information. I doubt I'll see him again." I look at my friend and choose my next words carefully. "I'm not trying to be mean, but I expected you to understand."

She shakes her head slowly. "I do understand, believe me. It's just that you don't have the greatest taste when it comes to men." This is a low blow. I am trying to think of the perfect retort when her phone beeps and she quickly checks a message.

"It's Jack, I'm supposed to meet him." She looks at the display apologetically and I know she is considering staying here with me instead.

"I'm fine," I say sincerely, "and I'm glad you came over. Go meet Jack. Tell him I say hi."

Angela gives me a quick hug. "Just be careful, ok. And talk to Booth, Bren. Tell him how you feel." I smile while thinking, absolutely not.

--

It's Monday and I am sitting in my office waiting for Booth to arrive. Why is he coming? Because I called him. And may have told him I need a signature on an old file. A file that is currently printing, very slowly I might add, on the printer in my office. Finally, I remove the paper and sign my name, careful to date the document with the proper date, and resume waiting. I skim over several files on my desk, but they don't hold my attention.

All weekend I had been thinking about what Angela said. I'd also been thinking about talking to Booth. I almost called him several times, but I couldn't quite do it. Until just now, when I convinced myself that I don't have to talk to him about anything important if I don't want to. We can just talk for a few minutes and I can see how he is doing. Nice and casual. Maybe everything will be clearer once I see him.

Booth walks through the door twenty minutes later. He flops down heavily on the chair in front of my desk. I can't help but notice how tired he looks, from the dark shadows underneath his eyes to the wrinkles in his suit.

"Hey," he says wearily. "What's up?"

I drop my eyes to the file on the table and say offhandedly, "I was just organizing some old files and I found one that didn't have your signature."

"Oops." He says.

"Yeah." I brilliantly offer. He reaches for the file on the desk, but I snatch it away from him at the last second. He looks surprised. He's not the only one.

"Not here." I say, stalling as I gather my wits and then my courage. I'm not going to let him get away so easily this time.

"You still owe me lunch," I say in sudden inspiration.

"Lunch?" He questions and for a moment I am sure he will decline my invitation.

"Yes. I'm hungry and I need to eat and I miss you." I declare, sounding much braver than I feel. I do redden slightly, however, when I realize I actually said the part about missing him, aloud.

He looks at me with raised eyebrows. "The diner?" he questions. I nod, greatly relieved.

The walk to the diner is actually enjoyable. I haven't been outside very much and spring is definitely on its way. Despite whatever awkwardness is between us now, I still feel comfortable with him. There is a certain energy when we are together. We sit in our usual spot and it seems like old times. After we order, Booth grabs the folder off the table and opens it. He gives a little chuckle before producing a pen from his pocket and signing the document.

"What?" I ask, trying to remember which file I chose and if it was in anyway remotely funny. I don't think so.

"I've been going through a bunch of old files too." He says tapping his finger on the folder. Judging by the grin on his face, he finds this amusing. Suddenly, it occurs to my why and I just know that the paperwork for this case is probably sitting on his desk right now, boasting two original, one-year-old signatures. I feel incredibly stupid. He laughs again and I almost feel as if I could cry, or perhaps kick him.

"My phone works pretty well." Booth says dangling his phone in front of me. My reaction is now leaning more towards violence than tears.

"Have you ever caught me?" He questions, catching me off guard.

"Caught you what?" I ask, my embarrassment slowing down my comprehension.

"You know, pulling the old missing signature trick."

I finally realize what he is saying and I'm touched. I am also slightly aggravated that Booth knows his files better than I do. If he had asked for unneeded signatures, I'd never noticed. I shake my head, "No."

"Damn. I shouldn't have confessed. Apparently it worked pretty well."

"Did you do it often?" I ask, trying to remember trying to recall any specific signature seeking instances.

He pauses and I see it that he is embarrassed. It's definitely his turn, but before he can answer, our food arrives. He takes a big bite of his hamburger and grins at me. We eat for several minutes and I've just about worked up my courage to ask him a question when his phone rings.

"Hello sir," he says when he answers the phone. He listens intently for a minute than says, "I'll see you in half an hour sir."

"Cullen," He says by way of explanation.

"Is it a case?" I ask eagerly. Too eagerly.

Booth shakes his head. "No, it's a meeting about something else." He hurriedly resumes eating his lunch and I know that I don't have much time left. I want to ask him if we will ever work on cases together again, but I am afraid of the answer.

"I've been thinking about what you said," I begin nervously, not exactly sure what I am going to say, "about high risk situations and relationships." Before I can continue, Booth interrupts.

"Me too Bones, and listen, I should have made it clearer that those things don't apply to family."

"Right," I say, but I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. All I hear is the word family and I know that doesn't include me.

He smiles at me. A large, very happy looking smile, which I find perplexing. Reaching across the table, he brushes fingers across my cheek. "I'll call you later Bones," he says softly. He leaves cash on the table and walks out the door.

I remain sitting after he leaves. My hand drifts unconsciously up to my face retracing the path of his fingers. Nothing seems clearer after seeing him; if anything, I am more confused now than ever before. It is hard enough to figure out my own feelings. Am I really expect to analyze all of Booth's action as well? He says he'll call. I concentrate on that fact as I walk back to work.

--

I click send on the last email I need to reply to and turn off my computer. After lunch with Booth, I'd passed the rest of the day working with the team on two skeletons from World War II. We were able to identify one of the soldiers. The other, however, will be returned to limbo. The lab is empty, everyone having left already. I've kept my cell phone close all day, but he doesn't call.

On the drive home, I take a slightly different route, one that takes me past Garver Street. Sitting at the red light, I peer down the road. I could go to Mularky's. Buzz might be there. I haven't seen or heard from him since Friday night, but I've thought about him a couple times. If I go home, I know what will happen; several hours spent trying to distract myself followed by another sleepless night. When the light turns green, I look across my shoulder checking the traffic before cutting across the lane and turning down Garver.

I walk in slowly, my eyes adjusting to the dim light as I scan the room. I don't see him. I sit at the bar and order a beer. Fingering the label, I sip it slowly wondering what I am doing here. I check my cell phone again, to see if perhaps there is a missed call. There isn't.

"You slumming again, sweetheart?" An older woman asks as she sits down next to me.

"I'm sorry." I say startled. "I don't know what that means."

She pulls a cigarette out of her gold purse and lights up, blowing the smoke right into my face. I cough. She says, "You don't belong here. You rich, fancy ladies comin down here to find yourself a real man." She stops and a rattley cough shakes her thin frame. It's obvious that she has been smoking far too long. "But you don't know what you're getting with that one."

"I am just having a beer. All by myself." I insist. It is true.

"Sure."

"The smoke." I say not wanting to spend another minutes with this person. "I am allergic. And judging by your cough you shouldn't be smoking either, unless you actually want lung cancer."

She glares as me and takes one last drag of the cigarette before crushing it in the ashtray before us. I stare at the smoldering white cigarette butt covered in pink lipstick. Disgusting.

"He'll be here. If he wants you, he'll be here." She says as she walks away. I can't decide if it is a promise or a warning.

--

Two beers and a half an hour later, Buzz sits down next to me at the bar.

"You looking for me?" He asks. The bartender brings him a glass of something brown.

"Maybe." I say.

He smiles at me, in that not very appropriate way, and drains his glass in one drink. "I knew I'd see you again." Somehow, his confidence doesn't come off as arrogant. Perhaps it's because of his voice; the deep timber gives everything he says an air of authority.

"Do you have any family?" I ask Buzz. Unable to get my thoughts off of the subject I'd been pondering all day. He stares at me intensely and I'm not sure he is going to answer.

"Family?" He repeats as if it's a silly question. I nod and he shrugs. "Sure. You met some of em the other night. My boys are my family." He says this in such a matter of fact way that I feel silly asking for clarification. But I do. I can't help myself.

"You're not actually related to them, are you?"

"No. Blood doesn't matter. Family are the people you'd do anything for. You know, they'd die for you and you'd kill for them. Right Shaun?" He asks the bartender as he passes by.

"Amen Buzz." He answers as he walks away nodding.

I suppose I should have been concerned with Buzz's example of how far he would go for family. Instead, I found myself thinking back to my earlier conversation with Booth. An idea occurs to me. Could Booth have possibly meant that I am in the family category? That would make more sense as to why he was so smiley after he delivered the news. He did tell me after my father and brother left that there was more that one kind of family. But … he is the one who has been avoiding me. I had to lie to get him to spend time with me!

"Let's go Tempe." Buzz says pulling on my arm and pulling me back to the present.

"Where?" I ask.

"For a ride." He says giving me his standard line. When I don't move he sighs and offers, "There's this thing. I'm supposed to stop by." Reaching across the bar, he grabs my beer and empties it. Apparently, the conversation has been taxing.

I hesitate for a second before I get up. This time he doesn't walk away first, but waits to see if I am going to follow. I do. In the parking lot, he stops in front of a large motorcycle, all black and chrome of course.

"You ride?" He asks, the question sounding like one word in his gravely voice.

I had actually ridden motorcycles before. Dirt bikes are a fairly common form of transportation in some third word countries, especially around dig sites. I'd even spent a day on the back of a BMW in the Italian countryside. Never before however, had I ridden a large, noisy American chopper with my arms tightly wrapped around a man named Buzz.

"I've been on motorcycles before, but not like this." I said honestly. Again, he gives me his crooked smirk.

"What about my car?" I ask remembering his previous advice.

He looks between my car and I before he speaks. "Anywhere around here you can leave it?" My house is not too far away, but something stops me from sharing that information.

"The lab is close. It'll be fine there."

"The lab?" He asks. "Thought you worked at a museum."

"I do. I work at the Jeffersonian Institute."

He follows me to the lab, where I park in my usual spot out of habit. It is dark and my car is virtually alone in the lot. I glance in the rearview mirror where Buzz is sitting tall astride his bike, waiting for me. Angela is right, I barely know him. I don't even know what he does. Usually, the first thing people know about me is my profession. It's part of what defines me, but not to him, and that fascinates me. I loathe to admit it, but there has always been a part of me that longs for definition and validation.

Buzz offers me his helmet as I approach the bike. I hesitate for a moment before I climb on, willing my phone to ring, but it stays silent. He waits until I am settled. "Hold on tight." He says as we roar off into the night. Again I can't help but feel a rush of exhilaration at the speed, and a perhaps a thrill at being so close to Buzz.

--

By the time we stop riding, almost an hour later, I am frozen. I'm not even sure if I can unbend by arms from where they have been tightly wrapped Buzz's waist. We are at Miller State Park. The warm glow of several fires appears in the distance and I am grateful. I untangle myself from the bike, though not very gracefully.

"What is this?" I glance around at the long row of motorcycles parked beside us.

"A party," Buzz answers. He puts his arm around my shoulders and leads me towards the fires. I rub my hands together in a vain attempt to get the blood circulating again. There is a pretty large crowd, probably several hundred people. Almost everyone seems to be wearing black leather and drinking or smoking something.

I should not be here. I do not belong at a biker bonfire party on a Monday night. I want to leave, but I don't see any viable options other that the way I got here. Buzz however, obviously belongs here. Every person we pass by appears to know him and it takes a while for us to get close to the main fire. Apart from some interesting looks, I am hardly noticed. We stop at a tent and Buzz leaves me alone for a moment, returning with a beer for each of us.

"I don't know about this," I say to Buzz.

He takes a long swig before he replies. "Won't be here too long. I'll take you to meet some of the women." Buzz takes off towards to the smaller of the two fires. I hurry to catch up to him.

"Tempe," He says stopping before several women, "This is Sarah and …."

"Daisy," the woman offers when it is obvious Buzz doesn't remember her name. I extend my hand to shake hers, but she seems confused at the gesture. I pull it back, embarrassed.

"Hi," I say, unsure. The women smile back at me, but their smiles aren't very friendly. I look up at Buzz.

"You guys talk," He says. "I'll be back later." Buzz leans down, kisses me roughly on the lips and then walks away. I stare after him. Unable to believe that he is just going to leave me here.

"Don't worry," Sarah says as she lights a cigarette. "He'll be back later."

Daisy giggles and adds, "Definitely." She carefully accepts the lit cigarette from Sarah and takes a drag, holding the smoke in. Ok. That is not a cigarette. Daisy offers it to me and I shake my head.

"No thanks," I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Are you sure? It's really good." Sarah adds. I shake my head again and thankfully, they accept the answer.

"So you're with Buzz, huh?" Daisy asks.

I am not sure how to answer. "Well I came here with him, but we aren't really together."

"Oh," Sarah says, deliberately drawing the word out. "I know what you mean."

This statement sends both women into a fit of giggles. Daisy recovers first. "Almost everyone knows what you mean. Except me." She adds with a sigh. "I was already with Jake when I met Buzz."

Several other women come to join us. I move quietly away from the group, towards the fire. I am cold and I have no desire to stand here with these women while they get stoned and drunk and discuss which of them is lucky enough to have had sex with Buzz.

--

"You look familiar?" A woman standing next to me at the fire says.

I've been lucky until now; everyone has left me alone. I look back at the woman, with her white jeans, colorful makeup and very big hair. She definitely does not look familiar to me.

"I'm sorry, I don't think we've met before." I answer politely.

"You look so familiar." She says again, still studying my face intently. I begin to feel self-conscious and take a small step back.

"It was you." She says snapping her fingers in revelation. "In the newspaper, right on the front. Some color picture and a story about how you work with the FBI." At her words, the drone around me grows quiet. Anyone standing near to us is obviously listening.

"I'm not sure what you are talking about," I stammer. Even I can tell that I probably don't want these women to know about my connections to law enforcement. "It wasn't me."

She eyes me suspiciously, then turns and whispers something to the woman next to her. The noise around me beings again as they discuss whether I am indeed the woman from the paper. I inch slowly towards the edge of the group and stand alone, staring into the fire. A hand on my shoulder makes me jump.

"Hey," Buzz says and I am grateful to see him. It's been two hours since he dumped me at the 'woman's fire.' He's actually not a very good date. At this point, I really just want to go home.

"What's going on?" He asks, alluding to the fact that all of the women are whispering and pointing at us.

"I don't make friends easily." I say, attempting a joke. "Let's go," I insist pulling on his arm. I don't want him to hear the FBI talk.

"Alright." He says after a minute. He puts his arm around my waist and we head away from the gossiping women. I am so grateful that he didn't overhear the gossip that it takes me a few minutes to realize that we are not heading towards the parking lot.

--

Cue ominous music - Sorry to stop there, but this chapter was getting long. Probably two or three more chapters. They will be almost all Booth and Bones, cause all my stories are just an excuse to get them together in various ways.

Please let me know what you thought.


	3. Shadows

Chapter 3 - Shadows

Well, I do believe this is my fastest update ever, though to be fair I did have it pretty much finished when I last posted. I toyed with changing the plot to make it less - cliché, I suppose. But I kinda liked how it turned out, so…

--

The tall pine trees leave long shadows under the dim light of the waning moon. The strange light, combined with the beers I've consumed, make everything seem slightly surreal and I find it hard to focus. The only solid thing is Buzz next to me. When I see that we are heading towards the woods, I stop.

"Are we leaving?"

"Not yet. Come on Tempe." He says dragging me forward. "We're just gonna go hang out for a bit. Then we'll leave. I promise. I just need to sober up first."

It's a strong argument. Driving with him is scary enough when he is relatively sober. I have no idea what he did while we were apart, but if it was anything like the rest of the partygoers … well it probably was not good. We continue towards the trees. I point out several nice places to sit, but he shrugs them off with a grunt and continues farther into the woods.

The moment we finally stop, he pushes me back against a tree and kisses me. He's practically smothering me with his mouth and I push him away. It's suddenly clear in my mind. I don't want this. I don't want him.

"What?" He asks. "You came looking for me."

I did and I can clearly see now that it was a mistake. Buzz moves in again and kisses my neck. For a moment, I start to enjoy the sensation before I feel his hands against the bare skin under my shirt. "Buzz, no!" I say loudly. He is not the man I want to be with. I push him again, harder this time. He barely budges.

When he tightens his grip on my waist and moves towards me again, I strike out with my right hand, hitting him in the face. He stops in shock for a moment, reaching up to feel the blood streaming out of his mouth. Laughing, he returns the favor, slapping me hard across the face. I should block it, but the alcohol slows my reflexes. Stunned I turn to leave, but he stops me. I launch forward to hit him again, but he is expecting it. He easily counters my punch and we struggle, ending up on the ground.

Before I realize what is happening, I am pinned to the earth by Buzz. He is using every inch of his six-foot-four frame to hold me still beneath him. He holds my wrists tightly in his hands and for a moment, I panic. The horrible thought occurs to me that he knows exactly what he is doing. The panic only lasts a moment, though. His free hand slides down my side and I refocus, determined to gain the advantage. I tense, waiting for him to be distracted, to relax his grip slightly. Finally he does and I feel him shift his weight to unzip his pants. Using every ounce of my strength, I kick and shift out from under him.

"What the fuck!" He yells. I use the sound of his voice to focus my attack. I go through my moves, feeling an extra rush of adrenaline each time he grunts with the impact of my blows. Hastily, I decide to run; Buzz is much stronger than I am and if this fight continues, he will no doubt gain the advantage. I kick him one last time in the stomach before I turn and flee.

I don't know if he is following me. I can't hear anything but the pounding of my heart and my own labored breathing. I turn and look behind me. I don't think he is following. Slowing down, I bend over and put my hands on my thighs as I try to catch my breath. What the hell am I supposed to do now?

I walk for what feels like forever, but my watch tells me it's only been fifteen minutes. Eventually, I reach a developed area with several covered picnic tables and even a restroom. My legs are surprisingly shaky; I make my way to the nearest table and collapse. My mind is racing with everything that just happened. After several moments of self-pity, I force myself to check my injuries. Nothing major. Nothing broken. Not too much blood.

Tears finally fall from my eyes. This entire evening has been a complete fucking disaster. The last couple of weeks have been a complete fucking disaster. I have no idea what I am going to do now. There is no way I can go back to the party. I have no desire to see Buzz again. I can't believe that he tried to do. I doubt any of the others would help my anyway. I am a threat to their society; my ties to the FBI assure that, and Buzz appears to have power and status among their group. How can I possibly explain my location to a cab company, let alone actually pay the fare?

So how am I going to get out of here? Angela comes to mind, but I can't call her. I can't risk her getting hurt. She tried to warn me and she wasn't the only one.

"Oh, God", I groan. I really don't want to call him. I don't want him to see me like this. I don't want him to get involved. Nevertheless, as I stare down at my phone I realize I have no choice.

"Booth," I say when he answers, my voice not as steady as I'd like it to be.

"Bones?" He asks sleepily. I wonder if I've woken him. After all, it is after one on a Tuesday morning.

"Yes, it's me." I pause, figuring out what to say.

He doesn't wait. "It's late. What's going on?" He questions, sounding much more alert.

Hearing the concern in his voice makes me want to weep again, but this is not the time. I swallow hard and take a deep breath before I continue, trying not to sound upset. "I need a ride. I'm at Miller State Park."

"Miller? That's like an hour away. What the hell are you doing up there?"

"It's a long story Booth," I reply, my voice breaking slightly. "Will you come get me or not?"

"Bones, I'm on my way. I'm just trying to figure out what is going on." He says sincerely. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, I just … I need you Booth." I whisper into the phone. In the dark, everything seems louder.

"I'm coming. Are you gonna be ok till I get there?" Booth asks and I hear him start the engine. The image of him driving the Suburban on his way here makes me feel better.

"Yes, but please hurry." I'm too tired and too scared to lie anymore. I describe my location. He offers to stay on the phone with me and as temping as it sounds, I decline. I need to listen, to make sure that I am still alone, and he needs to focus on driving.

I head into the bathroom and stop dead, horrified by the smell. Hurriedly. I grab a handful of paper towels and run out of the room. The odor, combined with the alcohol and Buzz's attack, are too much and I throw up next to a small tree, holding on to its spindly branches for strength. The pounding in my head intensifies and I scramble back over to the cold, yet solid, comfort of the picnic table.

--

It's been over half an hour since I spoke with Booth. Voices cut through the night and I lift my head up from the table. Slowly, I move away from the tables and back towards the woods. The shadows that seemed eerie before help to conceal me now. I can't quite make out the words, but I don't think it is Booth. I'm sure that he will come alone. The voices come closer and I can hear what they are saying.

"I can't believe you let her get away!" An angry male voice yells.

"Shut up Jake! I told you, she knew how to fight." I hear Buzz say. I tense and creep back farther into the shadows.

"Well maybe that's because she is a fucking FBI agent." The other guy says angrily. I wonder if he is Daisy's Jake. "I mean, what the fuck man, how could you bring her here?"

"I said shut up," Buzz says his voice low and menacing. He is heading towards me. Somehow, he knows exactly where I am. He motions to Jake who abruptly takes another path, cutting me off. I head out towards Buzz slowly. I can hear Jake approaching me from behind and figure I'm better off out in the open.

"Tempe," Buzz rumbles, "I just want to talk to you. I'm sorry."

"Buzz don't," I say, trying to decide if I can fight the two of them.

"Why didn't you tell me that you worked for the FBI?" He asks insistently.

"Well, technically I don't," I stutter, trying to keep an eye on Jake who has come into the clearing behind me. Buzz shakes his head 'no' and motions to Jake, who grumbles, but steps out into the open next to Buzz.

All of a sudden, headlights appear. They seem to be coming right towards us. I don't know who it is until I hear, "Freeze! Put you're hands up!" I practically collapse with relief. I won't have to fight anymore tonight.

Booth gets out of the truck, his gun drawn and pointing at Buzz and Jake. He works his way to my side.

"Are you ok?" He whispers fiercely, looking at me quickly before returning his attention to the two.

"I'm fine. Let's go." I insist, but he doesn't move.

"Should I shoot one of them?" He asks and I believe that he is serious.

"No, Booth. Let's just go." I plead.

"But you're bleeding." He says, never moving his eyes from the two men before him.

"It's nothing. I'm ok."

"Get in the car," Booth says.

"No," I protest.

"Now." Booth commands in a voice that I imagine causes even battle hardened Marines to heed his orders.

With a last quick look at Booth, I walk slowly towards the truck. Huddled in the passenger seat, I watch through the windshield, half expecting to hear a shot. Booth moves closer towards the bikers. I would give anything to hear what he is saying. They begin to walk away first as Booth covers them with his gun from behind. He looks quickly back at me. I nod at him, willing him to let them go. He lowers his gun and trots towards me; turning to check every few feet until he is at the door, but Buzz and Jake don't follow. Booth appraises me quickly before turning the truck around and driving off the field.

"Good timing,' I say weakly, searching for something to say. He gives me a look, but doesn't speak, apparently concentrating on his driving. I fall quiet as well, completely exhausted. We ride in silence for ten minutes, with Booth frequently checking the rear view mirror. I start a million conversations in my head, but none in reality. Eventually, he turns off at an exit and parks under the neon lights of a roadside motel.

Booth lets out a deep breath and turns on the dome light. "Temperance, are you ok?" He asks, reaching out and gently touching my face. "I think we should go to the hospital." He asserts.

"No!" I practically shout. I definitely do not want to go to a hospital. "I'm fine and nothing is broken anyway." I add, trying to sound calmer.

Booth looks at me until I finally look away, afraid of what he might see. He shift into drive and pulls around in front of the hotel. Turing off the car and removing the keys from the ignition he says, "Stay here. I'll be right back." He nods towards the glove box, where I know he keeps an extra gun. He shuts the door and waits until I have locked them to walk into the lobby of the motel.

I watch as he talks to the man at the front desk, hands over his credit card, signs a piece of paper and returns, key in hand.

"What are you doing?" I ask the minute he opens the door.

Booth slowly drives around the side of the complex. He parks in front of a lower level room before he answers. Leaning on the steering wheel he says, "You're hurt and you don't want to go to the hospital. It'll be almost an hour before we get home." He gets out of the truck and comes around to my side, opening the door.

"I got a room so that we can make sure you are ok and get you cleaned up." He reaches down and gently uncurls my fingers from around the handle of the gun I have been clutching. Flipping the safety back on, he returns the gun to the glove box. He waits for me, staying close as we travel the short distance to the room.

"Hold on," Booth says and he runs back, reappearing with the first aide kit from his truck.

"I'm ok Booth,"

"I know. I just wanna make sure. Please Bones."

I head into the bathroom and he follows. I catch sight of myself in the mirror and stop. I thought I had cleaned up the blood with the paper towels at the park. Apparently, all I had done was smear the blood around so that I look worse than I actually am. As I study myself, I notice that my left eye is swelling as well. I only remember the first strike to my nose, but obviously, I'd been hit again. I look terrible; no wonder Booth is acting so strange.

"It looks worse than it is." I say attempting to reassure us both. I sit gingerly on the edge of the bathtub.

"It looks like it hurts," Booth says as his fingers gently probe my face. I know that nothing is broken, but I enjoy his attention, so I sit still. Cringing only when he comes to the bridge of my nose.

"I think you're nose is broken." He says with a frown.

"No, it's sore, but it's not broken. Trust me." I say adamantly.

"Does it hurt anywhere else?"

"No," I answer, shaking my head. In truth, there are a few more sore spots, but I don't want him to worry more than he already is.

Booth sits back on the floor and exhales loudly. "What happened Temperance?" He asks delicately.

"I was foolish," I reply without looking at him. Tears threaten again, but I force them back, aware that I am perilously close to becoming a full-blown damsel in distress. Something I never want to be. "I think I'll take a quick shower." I announce. I can still smell smoke and the dirt from the forest floor in my hair. Booth doesn't move.

"Fine," he says after a long moment. He stands up and walks out of the bathroom, turning back at the door. "I'll be right out here."

--

I climb out of the shower, feeling a bit better. I wrap myself in a bathrobe, not quite ready to put my mud and blood stained clothes back on. Opening the door to the bathroom, I see Booth sprawled out on the large bed, flipping channels on the tv. Shyly, I head towards him. He straightens up when he sees me coming and I sit carefully on the edge of the mattress.

"Why didn't you call?" I ask, unable to stop myself.

"Why were you out at Miller?" He counters.

"I was with a man," I say truthfully, figuring as this point I owe him as much.

"The tall guy?" He asks.

"Yes. Buzz."

"He looked like he took a few good shots." Booth says carefully.

"We fought," I acknowledge, "but he didn't really hurt me." I lift my hands, running them through my wet hair and wish I had a hairbrush. I must be quite a sight.

I feel Booth freeze behind me. "Did he-?" His words are strangled and he is unable to finish his question. I turn and follow his gaze down to my wrists. The bruises where Buzz held me are starting to show against the pale skin.

"No … I stopped him."

"Jesus Christ Temperance!" He cries angrily, jumping up off the bed. "What the fuck were you thinking? Why would you go out with some asshole biker?"

Booth is pacing around the small room, running his hands through his hair. I've seen this behavior before at the carousel with Parker. Now I know how the little boy felt. Booth's intensity can be scary at times; especially when it's not what you expect.

"Booth," I say weakly, but he ignores me.

"Do you even realize what could have happened to you tonight?" His words hurt. Of course, I know what could have happened, what almost happened. "You treat the world like its some goddamn playground!" He continues his rant. "Like just because you know karate nothing bad will ever happen to you. I don't get how anyone could be so smart and so damn naïve at the same time!"

"Trust me," I answer coldly. "I know the world isn't a fucking playground." Imagines of murder victims and mass graves flash though my mind. He ignores my statement and finally stops pacing, standing in front of me with his arms crossed.

"Most of the time I'm not sure if I want to strangle you or kiss you!" He exclaims in frustration.

"Which is it now?" I ask, a tremble in my voice.

He finally looks at me, really looks at me. I see his shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. Booth sits on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. He pulls the covers back next to him and pats the bed. I scoot over until I am sitting near him. He puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, tucking the blankets around me with his other hand.

"Right now I just want to hold you and know that you are safe." He says. I lean against his chest, enjoying the warmth his body and the blankets provide. My eyes threaten to close and I'm not sure how much longer I can stay awake.

"Rest," Booth breathes as he kisses my hair. His words have a magical effect and I feel myself relax against him. My breathing evens out as I drift off to the rise and fall of his chest.

--

When I wake it is still dark and I am alone in the bed. Sitting up slowly, I look around for Booth. He is sitting awkwardly in an uncomfortable looking chair in the corner of the room.

"Hey," He says softly. Somehow, I get the feeling that he has been watching me from that chair for a while.

"Hi," I answer. Disappointed that he is no longer next to me. Disappointed that I allowed myself to end up in this situation in the first place.

--

I'll try to get the next chapter up this weekend. This story is practically writing itself at the moment, though I'm sure I've just cursed it.

Thanks for the reviews! I love to hear what other people think about the story, the show and the characters.


	4. Questions

Chapter 4 – Questions

Well I made it! I posted when I said I would, which is something I'm not always very good at. Last night was a bit wild though, so now that this is posted I'm going back to bed. Three-day weekends are fabulous cause I can sleep today and snowboard tomorrow!

Thanks to everyone for still reading and extra thanks for reviewing.

--

I sit up slowly, one hand to my aching head, expecting Booth to say or do something, but he doesn't. Another quick peek confirms that he isn't even looking at me anymore. Suddenly, I am embarrassed. I shouldn't have called him last night and I probably shouldn't have fallen asleep in his arms.

Standing up, I am self-conscious in the loosely fastened robe and I clutch it tightly around me. "I am going to get dressed and then we can leave." Before I close the bathroom door behind me I add, "I'm sure you want to get home."

Tears sting my eyes as I slump against the wall. I feel so stupid. Last night with the trees, the shadows and the hulking, angry bikers being with Booth seemed like the right thing. Now though, I'm not sure. Everything seems different in the daylight and last night seems like a bad dream. But my swollen nose in the mirror is a reminder it was real. I splash water onto my face, gasping at the cold shock.

--

"How do you feel this morning," Booth asks once we are several miles down the road.

Does he want to know that I feel angry and embarrassed? Does he want to know that I am also hurt by his actions this morning? "I'm fine," I say forcing a lightness into my voice that I don't feel. He nods and stares at me intensely for a second before turning his attention back to the traffic.

We spend the rest of the ride home in silence. Eventually I am lulled to sleep by the tedious sounds of the road. Awakened by a hand on my shoulder, my eyes fly open and I tense. "It's ok Bones. It's just me." Booth says softly. Of course it is, I realize as I flush. He follows me to my apartment. I begin to tell him that I'll be fine on my own, but something stops me. I want him to say something, anything. So, I let him walk in first, though I highly doubt that Buzz or his cronies are lying in wait for me.

"Thanks," I say awkwardly.

Booth looks down at his hands and mumbles, "You don't have to thank me." After a pause he asks, "You're not going to see him again, are you?"

"Of course not!" I reply, rather indignant. "I can't believe you would even ask me that."

Shaking his head, he replies, "I wouldn't have thought that you would go out with someone like him in the first place." This makes me angry and for the moment, I choose to ignore the truth in his statement. How does he know whom I would or would not date? He's made it a point to stay out of my relationships and now suddenly he is the expert.

"How well did you know him?" He inquires, slipping into investigator mode.

"I slept with him three days before he tried to rape me." I retort sharply. "Is that what you want to hear?"

"No, Bones. It isn't." He says warily. "I'm sorry; I just don't understand why you would be with a guy like that."

"I don't either," I agree miserably. In fact, when compared to Booth, Buzz doesn't come off very well.

"He was different." I try to explain. "He didn't know anything about forensic anthropology, the FBI or any of this."

"Is that what you want?" He asks concerned.

"No. It's not, I know that now." I thought it was cool that he wasn't interested in what I do, in what defines me to the rest of the world, but I realize now that it wasn't. He simply didn't care about me enough to ask. Stupid. I am fairly sure that the man in front of me does care, however I am thoroughly confused by his behavior of late. Right now, I'm tired, and hurt, and the pain goes beyond my physical injuries. Somehow, he can sense this. He opens his arms to me and I hesitate for only a moment before sinking into them.

"I'm sorry." He says again. We stay like that for a while; just the two of us intertwined in the middle of the living room as the sun rises. Eventually, I pull away.

"Booth, when you were talking about family, did you mean me?" I ask finally voicing the question that's been on my mind throughout all of this. When he doesn't answer immediately, I add nervously, "Because I like that." When he still doesn't speak, I feel my breath catch; hoping, that wasn't the wrong thing to say.

"Yes I do." He says resolutely. "I told you that after you dad left and I meant it. Epps made me realize just how important you were. He knew that you and Parker mean everything to me."

He cocks his head to the slightly to the side and I am sure that this time it will actually happen: the kiss. But it doesn't. Booth actually takes a step back from me.

"I need to go, but I'll come by later. Are you going in to the lab today?" Booth grabs his keys and heads for the door.

"Yes, I'll be there all day." I answer surprised, but use to his abrupt departures.

"And you sure you're feeling ok?" He questions again.

"I'm fine," I insist. "I'll see you later." I smile. He holds my gaze for a long moment before leaving. I close my eyes and listen for the sound of the door shutting. It doesn't come. When I open them, Booth is still standing in the doorway

"Bones," He says finally. "If we weren't partners and I asked you out, would you say yes?"

"What?" I ask automatically.

"You heard me," He says. I blink several times and go over his question again in my mind to make sure I understand the intention. My heart is beating rapidly in my chest.

"Yes." I answer and am rewarded with the first full hundred-watt smile I've seen from Booth in a while. This time the door shuts behind him. I wonder what he means by if we weren't partners and I wish I had told him I would have said yes even if we were partners.

I long to crawl back into bed. To snuggle beneath my indulgently expensive bedding, but I head for the bathroom instead. The cheap motel shampoo has done nothing for my hair and the bruises on my face are going to require a careful makeup job. For the second time in several hours, I adjust the water temperature and climb into the shower.

--

"Karate, huh?" Angela asks again that afternoon. This is the third time she has asked, I think she is hoping she'll catch me off guard and I will change my answer.

"Angela," I say, an icy stare accompanying the warning.

"Ok." She says and we return to work in silence.

"So did you talk to Booth, or were you too busy getting beat up in karate class?" She adds, unable to resist. "Sorry." She gives me a penitent smile.

If she only knew the whole story, but I can't bear to relieve it for her right now. I feel humiliated and foolish when I recall the events of last night., at least the ones concerning Buzz. Focusing on the skull in front of me I say, "Booth asked me if I would go out with him if we weren't partners."

Angela's face, which had started to smile, fell slightly as she heard the part of not working together. "Well, what did you say?"

"Yes," I admit.

"Wow," she squeals. "So then what happened? Did you kiss? Did you make sweet passionate love?"

"Ange, no," I say blushing. "Remember the 'if we weren't partners' bit?"

"Oh, well do you really care about that?"

"Not as much as he does." I admit. "He is supposed to stop by later."

Zach approaches and we begin to discuss the placement of the tissue markers, effectively ending the conversation with Angela. I worked contentedly until we are interrupted.

"Brennan, you have a visitor in your office." Cam announces as she walks to where Angela, Zach and I are working. She still sounds a bit weak and tires easily, but her crusty exterior is back in full force.

"I'm busy." I declared annoyed. We are so close to pulling this reconstruction together and I already know it isn't Booth.

"Regardless," Cam says dismissively, "security was hesitant to let him in, so you might not want to leave him alone in your office for too long."

"Who is it?" I ask, still paying more attention to the skull than to my boss.

"I don't know, but he looks like a biker." When she speaks the last word, I freeze. Angela elbows me in the ribs.

"Is it Buzz?" She whispers, just loud enough for everyone to hear. Cam raises her eyebrows giving me a condensing look, then turns on her heal and leaves.

It couldn't be. There is no way he would show up here. I could have him arrested. I should have him arrested. Why the hell would he come here? Shit! I shake my head at Angela and shrug. Carefully, I peel off my gloves, trying to slow my heartbeat, which quickened considerably at Cam's announcement.

"What are you going to say to him?" Angela asks, looking at me puzzled. I don't answer. Straightening my shoulders, I walk towards my office. As I do, I can hear Zach and Angela whispering in the background.

Buzz is facing away from me, carefully studying a skull from my shelf. He turns when I enter the room. "Tempe," he says in greeting.

"What are you doing here?" I ask removing the skull from his hands and placing it back on the shelf. I feel uncomfortable in such close proximity and I move around to my side of the desk.

"I'm sorry." He says simply. Unsure what to say to this, I stand quietly with my arms crossed in front of me. My palms are slightly sweaty and I realize I am afraid. I am not afraid of him; I know that nothing will happen here. I also know that I can hold my own against him. I am afraid of what he represents, of the poor decisions and loss of control.

He walks towards my desk. "I didn't mean for any of that to happen. I was fucked up, but that's not really an excuse." He stops as if he is done, but then adds in a voice so low I can barely hear him. "You're different than any other woman I've been with. Wasn't sure how to deal with you."

God, I am tired of hearing that I am different. I'm tired of no one knowing how to 'deal' with me. It's like Booth not knowing if he should strangle me or kiss me. Am I really that difficult?

"You should be arrested." I declare, staring hard into Buzz's green eyes. He has the decency to lower his gaze.

"You've got a hell of a right," He chuckles, rubbing the bruise on his cheek.

"Not used to women fighting back?" I ask unable to resist. His jaw clenches and a flash of anger darts through his eyes.

"Not used to telling guys the truth?" He counters gestures around my office.

"You should leave now Buzz," I say firmly.

"Nice knowing you Dr. Brennan," Buzz says, giving me one last smirk before sauntering away.

I collapse into the chair and watch him cross the lab. When he is out of hearing range, I pick up the phone, dial security and order them to deny Buzz future access to the lab. I put my head down on the table and for a moment I relieve the sense of panic I felt in the woods when I wasn't sure I could stop him. I try to think about Booth instead; not about what he said earlier, but how it felt to be so close to him last night.

--

I've managed to compose myself and am engrossed in an article written by a colleague when Booth comes into my office a little while later. "We're back." He announces, smacking his hands together in front of him.

"We have a case?" I ask hopefully.

"Not yet," Booth says, sitting on the couch. I move and sit next to him. Close, but not too close. "We're back, you know, active."

"When weren't we active?" I ask confused.

"Cam didn't tell you?"

"No, today is only her second day back, remember. Tell me what?" I don't like the sound of this.

Booth grimaces and explains. "Um, well it was nothing official. Our bosses decided that after everything that's happened in the last few months we needed a break. But I talked to Cullen today and we will be assigned to the next case that comes in requiring our special talents."

"And you thought I knew." I conclude. That makes sense; still I can't believe no one told me.

"Look Bones," Booth says adjusting his tie. "I'm sorry that I didn't call last night."

"Don't worry about it Booth, you were there when I needed you." I'm feeling much more charitable about it now.

"No, if I'd called," he swallows hard, "you might not have been with Buzz." I can see where this is going. The last thing I want is for Booth to feel guilty about this. He needs to learn that he can't protect everyone all of the time. He doesn't have to fix everything. It's not possible.

"Booth don't," I insist, placing my hand on his knee. He covers my hand with his.

"You covered the bruises up pretty well," He says sweeping his hand lightly across my face.

Emboldened by the contact I say, "I would go out with you even if we were partners."

He nods. "Temperance, I don't do things halfway. Sometimes when I'm around you …."

"All or nothing?" I ask slowly attempting to follow his logic.

"Something like that." He says and before he can continue, someone knocks. Cam is standing in the door with a dark expression and I quickly move away from Booth. It is obvious that she knows exactly what she just interrupted. Immediately there is tension in the room. She taps her watch, "Meeting in five, Dr. Brennan."

"I'll be right there." I manage.

"Good to see you Agent Booth." Cam says. Oh, God. Pease don't let her mention that Buzz was here.

"Hi Cam," Booth stands up. Luckily, she leaves without adding any further details. I stand up to face Booth.

"Sorry, it's some departmental meeting." I apologize, regretting the timing. "Even I can't get out of this one." I add. "I certainly tried."

"What if I come over later?" He suggests.

I smile, "That would be nice." We walk together through the lab; I to the meeting and he to the parking lot. When it's time to part ways, we stop, standing close.

"So you'll be there tonight, right? I mean, you're not going to run off with like a mafia guy or anything?" He teases, a grin on his face.

Amused, I reply, "Not tonight." Booth slips his arm around my waist applying just enough pressure so that I can feel everywhere his arm is touching me. "Will you be there tonight?" I ask. I don't want to wait for a visit that isn't going to come.

"I promise," He whispers before disappearing down the corridor.

--

After the long and seemingly pointless meeting, I head to Angela's office, hoping she's finished the reconstruction. "Hey," she says as I pull up a chair next to her. "How much do you love me?" She asks playfully.

"Why," I say cautiously. She pulls up an image on the screen and I immediately see why. "Wow Angela, that's amazing!" I remark excitedly. Grabbing the files off the table, I quickly scan through them. "Warren Jones," I say aloud when I come across the corresponding x-rays.

"I'm fabulous, I know," she says take a bow. "We are on a roll lately. Think we'll get any cases soon?"

"Booth thinks so," I say.

"Speaking of Booth," Angela taunts, "he didn't seem too happy that Buzz was here. I ran into him in the parking lot and I must say, he's looking good today."

"What do you mean? He knows?" I ask frantically.

"Easy Bren," she coaxes putting a hand up. "I may have told him. It's good for a man to know you have options. Especially when he is stalling."

"Not this option." I reach for my cell phone and hit the first speed dial. Booth doesn't answer. "Call me as soon as you get this message," I command to his voicemail. Dammit. I have a bad feeling. If Booth knows that Buzz came to see me – "I've got to go Ange," I say moving quickly.

"Temperance Brennan, get your ass back here right now!" Angela shouts from behind. Everyone nearby stops to look at us and I hear a couple of the lab techs snicker. I take a deep breath and walk back, intending to stare her into submission, or at least silence. Angela, however, doesn't back down. She grabs me by my arm and pulls me into her office, shutting the door behind us.

"Ok. What the hell is going on?" She demands.

"I don't have time for this right now." I protest.

"Well, then you better talk fast." She stands with her hands on her hips and I know she means business.

"Fine. Buzz and I … fought." I say delicately, tugging on the sleeves, which cover the bruises on my wrists. "If Booth finds out that he was here, there might be trouble. I need to find him."

"What are you going do to? Drive around hoping to spot them?" She asks. "And what if you do? Sweetie, maybe it's better that you don't get involved."

"I can at least make sure that no one gets shot." I say as I walk to the door, determined to leave this time.

"Go," Angela says, "But be careful."

--

Fours hours later I am sitting on my couch staring at the wall. I've tried every number I can think of to contact Booth, but still no word. It's late now, almost nine thirty and I'm starting to get worried. I should have heard from him by now even if this has nothing to do with Buzz. My throat is dry and I lift myself off the couch and head for the kitchen. Glass of water in hand, I begin to pace.

There is a sharp rap on the door and I jump. "Please let it be Booth," I beg, looking through the peephole. I relax as I see him standing in the hall with his thumbs hooked over his pants.

"Booth," I say happily, as I open the door. I stop short when I see blood dripping from a cut on his forehead. His shirt is splashed with blood as well.

"I promised I would be here." He says.

--

Ahh, now poor Booth is hurt too. Will Brennan convince Booth they work together and date? Will Booth get in trouble for his latest skirmish? Have we finally seen the last of Buzz?

Probably two more chapters and I think the next one is what most of you have been waiting for.


	5. Declarations

Chapter 5 – Declarations

Turns out this is the last chapter. I had another storyline I was considering, but I think they've been through enough already. Also, I'm gonna leave this rated T, but there is a bit o' sex in this chapter. It's nothing too graphic.

Hope you enjoy!

--

"Can I come in?" Booth asks. I usher him in in a rush, embarrassed that he is still in the hall.

"What happened?" I ask concerned.

"Nothing," he says shaking his head. I reach out and lightly run my fingers along his face. He winces when I cross a bruise on his cheekbone and I drop my hand. I've seen Booth hurt before, but it's still not something I am used to. When he takes off his coat, I shift my attention his other injuries.

The dark red stain on his shirt worries me the most and I don't focus on anything else. I drag him into the kitchen and begin unbuttoning his shirt. He swats at my hands, but I pay no attention to his actions, or his words. All I can think about is that if Booth is hurt because of me and my stupid dalliance with Buzz, I will not forgive myself. Once the seemingly endless buttons are finally undone, I slip his shirt off.

Relief rushes through me, as I see no major wounds. I take a deep breath and examine him more closely. My hands skim carefully across his well-muscled chest as I continue my inspection. He stands still letting me satisfy my need.

"Bones," he says finally. I hear him, but I don't react. I'm still looking for the wound that I'm sure I will find. "Bones," he says again, more insistent this time. He grabs me gently by my arms and pulls me back to eye level.

"It's not your blood," I announce. The cut on his head isn't producing enough blood to have caused the stain.

"I know." He says releasing my arms.

Another horrible thought jumps into my mind. "You didn't … shoot anyone did you?" I ask my voice barely audible. I hate to ask him this. I know he has had a hard time dealing with Epps death, but I need to know.

He smiles, and I am taken aback. "No, I didn't shoot anyone, but I'll admit I was tempted."

"Buzz?" I ask already knowing the answer.

Nodding he adds, "He's a bleeder." That's true; I remember how he bled when I hit him.

"Bones, why didn't you tell me he came to see you?" Booth asks and I can tell that he is hurt. "I thought that after everything … you would tell me." What can I say? I didn't want him to know because I worried that this exact scenario would unfold.

"Booth, I didn't need you to do this." I say ignoring his question.

"I know, but the next woman might." He says earnestly.

That's my Booth, always the hero. I have an overwhelming urge to kiss him and I move closer intending to do just that. Instead, a small drop of blood drips down from his forehead, reminding me I've been negligent in my nursing duties.

The spell broken, I step back and say, "Let me get a bandage for your head." I leave him standing in the kitchen and head to the bathroom to gather some supplies. Pausing for a moment, I lean against the wall, out of his sight. Breathing deeply, I stay there for several minutes trying to make sense of the tempest of emotions. To ignore the sensation of Booth's skin under my hands. To not anticipate what I've only recently let myself imagine.

Before I leave the bathroom, I catch myself checking my reflection in the mirror. Immediately I turn away, reminding myself that I shouldn't care how I look. This isn't the time. But I quickly run my fingers through my hair anyway.

When I return to the kitchen, antiseptic and bandage in hand, Booth is sitting on the counter. He doesn't see me yet and his face is thoughtful. I clear my throat to announce my presence. "Found it," I say raising my hands to show him the first aid supplies.

He smiles remorsefully and replies, "Between the two of us lately, we should invest in this stuff. What a pair, huh?" He adds. I smile at him and fumble nervously with the lid of the antiseptic.

I can feel his breath on my face as I lean in to clean the wound. My left hand finds his side to steady myself. I hear him take a quick breath and I wonder if it's due to the pain from the cut, or something else. I apply the band-aid, carefully smoothing down the adhesive strips.

"All done," I say.

"Thanks," Booth says, hoping down from his countertop perch. He is so close, standing all hot and shirtless in my kitchen. I'm not sure who actually moves first, but our lips finally meet. His arms slide around me, pulling me tightly to him and my hands explore his chest again, though this time with a different aim.

This is incredible. Whatever I'd thought about being with him was nowhere near as good as the real thing. He feels so good and solid and I can't get enough of him. I life my arms above my head and Booth slides my shirt off, dropping it, forgotten onto the floor. It is soon joined by my bra and his pants. "Bones," he half moans and I feel myself growing hotter. The kisses become more frenzied and I realize we are about to have sex in my kitchen. "The couch," I suggest and we kiss as we stumble, still entangled, to the couch.

I pull him down on top of me, enjoying his weight pressed against me. His mouth is on my neck and he works his way down slowly, stopping momentarily at my breasts. "Oh, God." I whisper. As he moves even lower, everything else fades away. It's only the two of us, existing right now in this moment.

--

Afterwards, we lay, on the couch breathing heavily. I feel good. And even, dare I think it, happy. Being with Booth is different than with anyone else. Somehow it makes all the sex I've had before seem insignificant. I start to tell him that, but the expression on his face stops me. He looks almost sad.

"I should go," Booth says, standing up.

"What?" I ask confused as I watch him put his boxers back on. "You can stay here."

"I really can't. I'm sorry Temperance." He says and he does sound sorry, I'm just not sure why. I remain sitting on the couch as Booth walks around the apartment dressing. Suddenly I feel awkward in my nudity and I grab a cushion and curl up against the arm of the couch.

Booth stops at the door and turns towards me. "I'm sorry," he says again before leaving. I am in shock. I can't believe that he is just going to leave. I wait where I am, sure that he is going to come back through the door. But he doesn't. All of the happiness drains out of me. Eventually, I drag myself self to my bedroom and fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.

--

I wake the next morning feeling sluggish and it takes a few seconds for me to remember why. When I do, I feel a crushing weight on my chest making it hard to breath. I shower slowly, scrubbing my skin vigorously to remove any lingering scent of him. Why would he leave? Why would he kiss me, hold me and then leave? I can't think of any explanation that makes it easier to breath. He cares for me. I know it. Or at least I thought I did.

My morning is spent in another meeting where I pay no attention, doodling on my notepad as scenes from last night flash through my head. Angela accosts me as I head back towards the lab.

"God Bren, I've been waiting for you! What happened last night?" I can't look at her. I don't know what she will see. Why the hell didn't I call in sick today? Without breaking stride, I continue to my office.

"Is Booth alright?" She asks from behind me.

My throat constricts and I manage to croak out, "Yes."

"Bren?" She asks. I sit at my desk and hold my head in my hands. "Sweetie, are you ok?"

"I'm fine," I answer, but the lie even sounds hollow to my ears. Angela moves to my side and puts her arm around me. She is all comfort and concern and I feel myself start to crack. "Booth and I kissed and we … well afterwards, he left." I stammer.

"He left?" She repeats incredulously. "You slept together and he left?"

She looks to me for confirmation and I nod. "He said he was sorry." I add miserably.

"I'm gonna kick his ass!" She declares loudly. "He can't do this to you." Her anger on my behalf is heartening. Maybe if I am angry, I won't feel hurt. My life has turned into a romance novel. I can only hope that this particular story has a happy ending.

"I'm fine," I insist.

"There is no way you are fine." Angela responds. "Not even you, Brennan, can come through everything you've been through unscathed." She stands up as her rant gathers steam. "I just can't believe, I mean it obvious that Booth is totally in love with you- Did he tell you that?" I shake my head 'no' and she continues, "What the hell is wrong with men? Jack wants me to move in so we can spend every moment together and Booth keeps ditching you."

"Hodgins asked you to move in?" I ask, glad to focus on something other than my own problems.

"Yeah, I told him I need to think about it. I don't think he understands what he is asking." I understand and I would think that anyone who has been to Angela's place would understand. Every wall in her house is covered in murals, some of which are hidden behind paintings framed with eclectic and colorful frames. Every inch of the place screams 'Angela.' She has taken years to make her house her own and I can see why she would be reluctant to give it all up. I, however, am in no place to provide relationship advice, so I simply shrug ruefully.

"Men," she says with a heavy sigh. I nod in agreement. We sit in silence, comforted by the camaraderie of our mutual relationship issues. "Maybe we should go get a drink after work, I know a great little bar." She offers.

"No way," I say shaking my head for added emphasis. "That didn't work out so well for me either."

"Right. Well, things with Booth will be fine," She says quietly yet confidently. "You haven't talked to him since last night?"

"No, he called this morning, but I didn't answer and he didn't leave a message."

"Everything will be fine," She says again.

"For you too," I say, giving her a weak smile.

--

"Dr. Brennan?" I hear a woman ask.

Without looking up from the tibia I am examining, I answer distractedly, "Yes."

"I'm Agent Montoya." She says positioning herself in front of me. When I hear the word 'agent' I become much more interested.

"Is there something I can do for you?" I ask suddenly ill at ease.

"Yes. There was a house fire in Georgetown. We believe we've found to be two victims and one may be a child. The FBI has requested your services as far as identification." She explains.

"I usually work with Agent Booth," I say, wondering what exactly is going on.

"Trust me, everyone is aware of that." She says in a tone that I am fairly certain is sarcastic. "How soon can you be ready to leave for the scene?"

"Umm," I say, still thinking more about Booth than the woman before me. "Just give me a few minutes. I need to gather some equipment."

"Fine, I'll wait here." Agent Montoya says dispassionately.

I head to my office and before I realize what I am doing, I've dialed Booths number. I wait; stomach in my throat for him to answer, but his recoded voice is all I hear. "Booth, it's me," I begin. "There's another agent here with a case and I-" I falter. "I don't what is going on." I hang up quickly, flustered.

I force my attention back to the current job. I grab my field kit; deposit it next to Agent Montoya and leave to speak with Zach. He is going to gather the rest of the gear and will follow in the van. As soon as he finds someone to drive him, that is.

"I heard Booth is in trouble again." Agent Montoya says. We've been driving in silence for twenty minutes and her words startle me.

"Why?" I ask.

She gives me a dirty look out of the corner of her eye. I am pretty sure she doesn't like me and since we have just met, I am unsure how I have offended her. "I'm don't know all the details, but I was waiting outside Cullen's office and I heard him tell Booth he would be suspended if he didn't tell him something. Sounds like Agent Booth was in a fight, his face was all cut and everything."

"Oh." Crap. Just … crap.

"What, are you two having a lover's quarrel?" She asks.

"No!" I reply automatically.

"Sure," She says snottily. I don't like her. I speak to her a little as possible as I work with the remains at the site. Agent Montoya drops me off outside the lab and I promise to call her as soon as I know anything. I'm beyond relieved that she doesn't want to accompany me inside. Booth still doesn't call and I have the uneasy feeling that I have once again gotten him in trouble at work.

I need to make things right. If Booth won't tell Cullen what happened, I will. I stride determinedly towards my car.

--

Once inside the FBI building, I head to the bathroom and proceed to wash all the soot and makeup off my face. There are still bruises and now I want them to show.

"Hi," I say to Cullen's secretary. I realize that after all this time I don't even know her name. "Tracy," I say, having glimpsed her nameplate. "I really need to speak to Cullen."

She studies me for a moment and I am sure she will tell me he is busy. But she picks up the phone and tells him that I am here to see him. His office door opens a minute later. "Dr. Brennan," he says and gestures for me to enter.

"Thank you for seeing me sir," I say stiffly. Now that I am here, I'm not sure that I can get the words out. I have worked hard for Cullen to see me as more than a squint who finds trouble whenever I leave the lab. Unfortunately, what I have to tell him will probably confirm that I am, indeed, not equipped to handle the real world.

"Dr. Brennan, I'm think I know why you are here." He begins. I take a seat and wait. "You know that Agent Booth has been suspended."

"Yes sir," I confirm.

"And you are here to plead his case." He surmises. "With all due respect, it is not your business."

"Actually sir, it is my business." I pull my sleeves up and his eyes find the marks. "I made a mistake and became involved with someone I shouldn't have." I begin. Cullen sits quietly and listens to the rest of my story. As hard as it is, I tell him the truth about Buzz. I won't let Booth get in trouble over me.

"I see." Cullen says thoughtfully when I finish, having only omitted certain events involving Booth and myself. "And are you alright?" He asks.

"I'm fine." I answer touched by his concern. "Thank you."

"Why didn't Agent Booth tell me this?" He questions.

I swallow and admit, "I didn't want anyone to know. I wouldn't let him take me to the hospital and I chose not to report it. Booth was just trying to protect me."

"He's good at that," Cullen says, rising. I nod in agreement. "Dr. Brennan, in the future you should be more careful."

"Yes sir, thank you." I answer, feeling as if I've just been chastised by a parent.

As I leave the FBI building, I grab my phone and do something I haven't done in a long time; I take the rest of the day off. Zach and the rest of the team will be able to handle the ID's without me and I doubt Agent Montoya will miss me.

--

My apartment is spotless. Every surface gleams and the air is a mix of lemon and pine scented chemicals. Taking the afternoon off was a great idea. Except that I couldn't relax, hence the cleaning frenzy. Now however, there is nothing left to clean and organize. I drop into a chair and stare across the room at the couch. What a mess I've made of my life recently. I close my eyes and catalog my faults and mistakes until the doorbell interrupts me.

"You talked to Cullen?" Booth asks as soon as I open the door.

"Yes," I manage to say, surprised by his visit. He enters the apartment.

"And you told him what happened with Buzz?"

"Yes." I say again.

"You didn't have to," he says softly. I close the door behind him.

"I know, but I didn't want to get in trouble because of me." He accepts this with a small smile.

We stand, farther apart that normal. The unspoken tension from last night fills the room. I take a sudden interest in the state of my fingernails, anything to distract me from the unanswered questions. Booth moves closer and covers my hands with his, stilling my nervous habit. His touch sends a jolt through me and I step back, creating the distance between us again. He sighs.

"I love you." Booth says quietly, yet powerfully.

My heart rate increases and I look into his eyes for confirmation. I find it. "But then – why?" I ask, having apparently lost the ability to speak eloquently.

"I freaked out," he begins, shaking his head. "I am so sorry. I should never have left."

"But you're here now," I hear myself say.

"I've never met anyone like you before. I've never felt like this before and," Booth stops, struggling for words. I should say something, but my mind has gone entirely blank. I stare at him and wait for him to continue. "My relationships in the past haven't really worked out and that can't happen here." He says resolutely.

"It won't. Booth, it's you and me." I say with conviction.

"I don't know. I love you, Bones. I've tried to ignore it, but it doesn't work and I can't stop thinking about you. I'm sorry," Booth says again. "For leaving, for not calling, for everything that's happened to you since we started working together." His voice breaks. "You deserve better."

Without thinking, I go to him and wrap my arms tightly around him. "Booth," I whisper, "I love you too. And don't you ever say you are not good enough for me." At my words, he puts his arms around me and squeezes me tightly. I'm sure that I can feel his heart beat.

I finally the embrace and ask quietly, "What now?"

"We can't do this and work together." Booth replies dejectedly.

My eyes find his. "Yes we can." I insist. "I know you think that if we care about each other it will affect our actions or our work, but I think we passed that point a while ago and we've been doing fine."

Booth chuckles. "Have you ever actually failed at something?" He asks, a smile beginning to spread across his face.

"No and I certainly don't intend to start now." I reply confidently. "We don't have to choose Booth. Remember what you said about family?"

"I do, and I meant it." He puts a hand to my face and kisses me. "Besides, I know better than to argue with you." I pull away, pretending to be offended, but I can't keep up the charade. We are soon kissing, expressing what we couldn't say with words.

"Not the couch again," I mumble in between kisses

"No way," he replies. "That was just a warm up. We're gonna need a bed."

"A warm up? I thought that was pretty good."

Booth laughs and takes several steps towards my bedroom, when I don't immediately follow; he stops and holds his hand out, "Come on." I put my hand in his and follow him happily towards the bedroom.

--

The End

Well, I always hate finishing a good story, be it one of my own or someone else's. I had fun with this little story, so thanks again for reading. I'd love to know what you thought, or what your favorite part was. Or least favorite part, I suppose, to be fair.

I've got a few ideas for another story. Maybe one in which Sully learns to shower and is still dumped by Brennan. Maybe something else first person, with a different take on the B&B relationship. Or perhaps I'll just read other people's fics for a while, cause I hardly ever do that. I've also been thinking about a short Office story, since that show is on hiatus forever too.


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